


Forever, and the Space Between

by TheRamPaige



Series: Dream SMP Fics [4]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Oneshot, Pandoras Vault, Prison, Prison!Dream, and neither is green man, sammy boy ain't doing so hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29300136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRamPaige/pseuds/TheRamPaige
Summary: Sam is the warden, not a tyrant, not a monster.But the heat of the walls can do things to you.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude
Series: Dream SMP Fics [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2152728
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105





	Forever, and the Space Between

Sam hadn’t quite become acclimated to the heat of the prison yet. The sheer amount of lava in the thick dark walls made it effectively an oven no matter what room you were in, and while he could get around that by putting packs of snow in his pockets, and tweaking the settings on his gas mask, nothing he did could ever properly prepare him for the cell.

Bags of already warm water weighed heavy in his pants pockets, sloshing uncomfortably under his armour, as he made his way across the ocean of lava. A sack of raw potatoes was clutched in his sweaty hand, swaying as the platform under him chugged along.

It was already unbearable and he was hardly halfway there, he thought miserably; he really had to get to work on that auto feeder.

The platform came to an ungraceful stop, punching into the obsidian platform with a sudden jolt that almost always managed to trip him up during his first week. This time however, he stepped from it gingerly right before impact, gliding smoothly over to the netherite barrier. He hoped with more practice the heat would become that negligible too.

Mirage lines wobbled in the air, distorting the small dark room ahead of him. He cleared his throat, eyes catching the blur of green slumped in the far corner. The warden persona slipped on easily, like a rough iron glove, deadening his voice of any emotion.

“Prisoner, I’m delivering rations. The barrier will be lowered temporarily. Make no sudden movements.”

There was no answer, not even the usual quiet grunt, but he knew he had been understood. 

Both of them knew what would happen if he wasn’t.

The netherite blocks receded into the ground with a loud mechanical clunk for a few moments, just long enough for him to step over them before they sprung back into place.

The moment he entered the actual cell he felt the air around him cool, it was still hot, awfully so, but it was livable; as evidenced by the still-breathing monster curled up in the corner. Papers were strewn all over the floor, ripped from books with crumples on the edges; the contents of them varied from neatly written paragraphs to chicken scratch and crude doodles. He wasn’t going to bother picking them up. He dropped the potato sack at his feet.

“Here is your food for this week. There were two counts of misbehavior the previous week, so there was a deduction of five potatoes. I suggest you ration these wisely, and behave yourself this week.”

Again there was no response, no acknowledgement, but Sam only shrugged. Never hearing him speak again wouldn’t bother him in the slightest. Not seeing any reason to stick around, he turned to take his leave, walking quickly back to the barrier. It fell again with it’s familiar clunk, but he didn’t have time to step back over before he saw green in his peripheral.

He whirled back around to face the prisoner, the blade of his Warden’s Will already poised sharply between them.

“I warned you prisoner, no sudden movements when the barrier is down. Lower yourself slowly to the floor, and you’ll get off with only a food deduction.” He barked.

The prisoner tilted his head like a curious dog, his expression unreadable behind his mask, but he complied; easing down to be cross legged on the floor.

He did not do it silently however.

“Sorry Sammy, didn’t mean to spook you. I just had a question, that’s all.”

Dream’s voice was tight and hoarse, floating along like the song of a scared bird. 

Sam hated it.

“What?”

“My clock, I burnt it again. Can I have a new one?”

Sam’s eyes flicked to the item frame pinned to the one wall. Sure enough, once again, it was empty. He sighed. Knowing the time was important for circadian rhythms, for keeping people sane, so he should probably replace it.

He didn’t want to.

Every time he had replaced the clock, every time the prisoner had giddily thanked him, every time they did this song and dance, played this game. 

This prisoner had long since lost the last game he deserved to play.

“...No.” He finally said flatly. 

Sam felt a cruel smile curl onto his lips under his gas mask, satisfied in the way the prisoner’s shoulders drooped.

“Is that all?”

The prisoner’s gaze had dropped to the fingers he was knotting and un-knotting in his lap. He giggled softly.

“Haha… yeah- well, no.”

“Well spit it out, what else? Don’t waste my time.”

The prisoner slowly stretched an arm out to the side, snatching one of the messier papers from the floor and examining it thoughtfully. As he did he started babbling in that strange new bubbly tone of his; flighty and thin as thread.

“I was just wondering if you’d figured it out, y’know? Cus it’s been a bit since you started and everything. I dunno if you were trying to, you probl’y weren’t, that’s not really a Sam thing is it? Well maybe it is now, that would be an interesting direction to go, really interesting. I guess you-”

Sam interrupted him with a sharp snap, privately amused at the way he started at the noise.

“Okay, just get to the point. One sentence, ask your question.”

“Oh yeah… sorry. I want to know if you figured out how to make the fun last forever.”

Sam didn’t know how to respond, and the prisoner unfortunately took this as an invitation to keep talking, rocking back and forth on his crossed legs like a child.

“I thought I had done it a while back, but nah. Me and Tommy had our laughs in exile, but I must have done something wrong, he kept trying to end our fun early.”

The prisoner paused, suddenly something like wistfulness coming over his tone.

“...It's over now though, an interesting ending, I’ll give him that, but I didn’t want to stop so soon.”’

He continued with a smile you could hear through the mask.

“You though, you and me have been going for almost just as long I think, and it seems like you’re having fun.”

The warden persona was slipping ever so slightly, disturbing implications goring enough holes in his walls for morbid curiosity to seep through.

“What do you mean ‘fun’?”

The prisoner laughed again, like he had told some kind of joke.

“I guess I guessed right on you then, fun was never really a Sam thing, not on purpose anyways. You know what I mean, right? I’m kinda like your Tommy now.”

Sam shivered, something so primally  _ wrong _ with everything the prisoner said.

“I do  _ not _ know what you mean, how are you like Tommy in any way, you nearly killed that kid!”

The prisoner scoffed.

“Oh no no no, I would never kill Tommy, it was him that kept trying to do that- what an idiot, right? I just played with him is all, like you do with me! That’s why I wanted to ask if you’d figured it out; your games are working a lot better on me I think, but you’d know better than me.”

Anger flared in Sam as the pieces finally clicked together in his head. He stepped forward abruptly with his sword’s deadly blade still held aloft. He backed the prisoner into the wall, forcing him to crawl backwards across the hot obsidian.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m not playing any games with you. What the hell did you actually do to Tommy, Dream?” He seethed.

For a moment the prisoner seemed genuinely confused.

“Oh wow, you really didn’t realize it too… unless-”

Then his tone sharply turned coy.

“Oh... that’s clever, nicely done Sam, I keep on falling for it. I would play games with Tommy, that’s all- like pranks. I’d make him think differently, change stuff about him. It was really neat to see, I’m sure you agree. I’m a bit of a different puzzle, but I know this is doing something to me. I’m always missing people, and I’m seeing things now. It must be cool to watch.”

His masked face turns to the empty item frame, and he laughs ruefully

“The clock thing too…that- that's gonna get  _ bad _ quick, huh? You prob’ly won’t have to wait long.”

The disgusting words seemed to fall out of him like a sewage pipe, so meticulous and detached, so giddy at the thought ruining someone's life, and for what? To see what would happen? 

He was revolted, completely disturbed, and yet not all of that was aimed at Dream anymore. Why was he asking  _ him _ these things? Why does he think Sam is playing along with some sick game here?

Is it because that’s exactly what he has been doing?

He silenced the thoughts with accusations.

“You- you messed him up, you monster. You made him hurt and it was all games to you, is that it? Are you that heartless?”

For what seems like the first time today, Dream is given pause, utterly perplexed that the game master was playing and not having fun. What was the point in that?

“Well I mean… I guess. I think so?” He mumbled.

“I’m not really sure, I’m kinda losing it in here. Am I heartless Sam? It’s okay if you don’t wanna tell me, or if it’s a lie or something; I get it. Gotta keep it interesting and all that, it was my favourite game before too. Same goes for all my questions I guess, it's not like I make the rules! Haha...”

The rage Sam feels keeps building, hot as the scalding air, and though he’s not fully sure who it’s aimed towards anymore, he knows he has to leave.

He turned away wordlessly, kicking the potato sack as he went.

Dream called after him, his voice light and airy.

“Thanks for talking with me!”

He hurries through the barrier, focusing solely on the heat and the ever closer other side of the lava chamber, on the burning air and mechanical whirring.

It's all a hot blur as he walks back through security, sweaty fists clenched at his sides; just so… angry. Unmanageably so. Not only at the prisoner.

He doesn’t stop until he’s in his office, throwing himself into his desk chair, fisting his hands in his hair. He was being an idiot, he was playing the game- hell, he was running the game; a puppet master power fantasy he hadn’t even realised he was indulging in. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to hit something.

He kicked himself away from his desk with a loud thud, sending papers to flutter to the floor.

Had he really been doing that, becoming that? Being Dream so well that the man himself was impressed? He stared ahead, thoughts storming. It was true, he had been enjoying himself too, he couldn’t even deny it. When had he gotten so-

Something caught his eye.

One of the numerous documents that he had scattered had landed close, with a bold and messy signature staring him in the face. A bold and messy signature that was more than business to both parties, even if they refused to admit it. Next to it was a small neat signature that symbolized a promise he was breaking. It was resolved then, absolutely.

He could not replace Dream as the game master, as the monster in this story.

Sam was not used to the heat of the prison, the maddening awfulness that seeped from the black walls, but he would find ways around it; through snow packets, through his mask, through remembering who he was and who he was doing this for.

Even if nothing could ever properly prepare him for the cell and who was in it.


End file.
